Gifts
by Maia1
Summary: Spike was resurrected as a human after Chosen, went back to the name William. Starts in 2008 and will span two decades. Characters: William, Dawn, Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander, several OCs. Plot revolves around the Key.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Gifts  
**Author:** Maia  
**Rating:** G for the first few chapters; later chapters will be PG-13 for violence  
**Warnings:** Multiple character deaths in later chapters  
**Characters:** Dawn, William, Buffy, Giles, Xander, Willow, several original characters

**Author's Notes:**  
_ Gifts_ takes place in the future of an AU where Spike was resurrected as a human after dying in " Chosen" in 2003 (so the 5th season of AtS never happened).

After becoming human again, Spike went back to the name William, and did not contact any of the Scoobies.

_Gifts_ begins five years later, when 22-year-old Dawn accidentally meets William-formerly-Spike in New York City, and learns the story of his first five years as a human. The story goes from there.

The plot revolves around the Key, and the question: is the Key too dangerous to be allowed to exist?

It's a Genfic story, and focuses on friendships and family relationships rather than romance. Buffy and William will get back together and get married, but their relationship will never be the main focus of the story.

* * *

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 1_

**June, 2008**

"I still don't understand why you didn't contact me." She felt her anger rising again as she said the words. Five years, five YEARS she had spent thinking that he was dead, killed spending his soul to close the Hellmouth forever and save the world. She'd spent five years mourning him, five years missing him. Spike. Her friend. Her brother - he felt like her brother - she thought of him as her older brother. The only adult who hadn't abandoned her either emotionally or physically - until his death. And how could she blame him for abandoning her by dying? (Though she did, of course.) How could she blame him for saving the world but leaving her? (Though she did, of course.) She'd grieved and raged and cried and finally accepted, mostly. She'd mourned him and missed him and let him go, some. Maybe. Partly. She'd written letters to him, a whole stack locked in her most private drawer. She'd read poetry every night, because of him. She'd listened to music she would never have listened to on her own, because of him. Sometimes she'd talked to him, sometimes, when no one else was around. She'd imagined him there, witnessing her tribulations and her triumphs. She'd held him in her heart, always. She'd missed him so much.

And now here he was. Alive. Really alive. He was human now. He had been human now for five years. And he hadn't told her. Hadn't contacted her. Had left her to mourn him. Had left her alone when he could have been there.

Right now, she hated him.

No, she didn't hate him. She wanted to hate him. But she couldn't. It was hard to hate someone who was crying and saying "I'm sorry, Niblet" (how she had missed hearing him call her that) over and over and over again. "I'm sorry, Niblet. I'm so sorry," he kept saying. And how could she hate him when she was so happy to see him alive?

But she was angry. She was furious. Even knowing he was alive was an accident. She'd been wandering around Manhattan like the hick she was, probably with "I'm a tourist, mug me" practically written on her face. She hadn't been mugged, but she had tripped while gazing up at the skyline towards the Empire State Building (how cliche was that? And shouldn't an ancient Key have more sense?) and gone sprawling on the sidewalk, and next thing she knew an oddly familiar voice was asking, "Miss, are you alright?" and an oddly familiar hand was helping her up, and then she saw his face. Spike's face, only it wasn't, because the hair was different, and he looked a little older, and the hand he'd helped her up with was warmer than a vampire's, and when he saw her face the color drained from his, and vampires didn't turn white as ghosts when they were stunned. But the look in his eyes was a look she knew, and his hands had been shaking violently as he held her shoulders and whispered, "Niblet?" and gazed at her face like he thought he was dreaming. And she'd thought she was dreaming, too. And then there had been hugging and crying and then more hugging and more crying.

And then, there were questions. And since they were still standing on a street corner in New York City, Spike had suggested that they go back to his place, where they could talk. And she'd agreed. But as he'd begun leading her through the streets of Manhattan, her mind formed the question: if he had a "place" - if he lived here - how long had he been alive? And with that question a seed of anger was born in her mind. And as they walked along the seed had taken root. He looked different. He looked five years older. His hair was different. His clothes were different. He had been human for a while. He had to have been. Her hands clenched into fists.

She hardly noticed where they were going. He pointed out a few landmarks along the way - the White Horse Tavern "where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death" - he said it like he'd been there - which for all she knew, he had. But right now she didn't care.

She restrained herself until they'd arrived at his building and he'd unlocked the building door and they'd walked up three flights of stairs and he'd unlocked his apartment door and she entered and only vaguely registered the place before she turned on him and asked, "How long? How long have you been back?"

And he closed the door behind them, and then looked down, and said softly, "Five years."

And she had wanted to kill him then. Or hit him. Or maybe run out of the building and never come back. But she hadn't. She'd screamed at him instead. And he'd started crying again, and apologizing over and over and over again. And then he got down on his knees and begged her forgiveness. That was Spike. Always the Drama King. Except the emotion behind his dramatic gestures was always sincere. Made it difficult to hate him.

She was angry. She was really angry. But, okay, maybe there was an explanation.

And she wasn't a child anymore. She was 22. (Or 8, if you counted from when the monks had made her. Or thousands of years old, if you counted her days as a blob of energy.) And a college graduate, as of last month. And she'd had some therapy, and dealt with her abandonment issues. Mostly. And she was going to journalism school soon. And the nascent reporter in her was whispering that this must be a damn good story. He was HUMAN. He was ALIVE. That was supposed to be impossible, wasn't it?

"Okay, Spike," she said. "Tell me the story. All of it." She would put her anger aside, and listen.

He got up off his knees - thank god - and looked at her, and there was a quiet dignity in his voice as he said, "Dawn, please call me William. Or Will."

"Is that what you go by, now?"

"Yes."

"Okay. William."

"It's a long story. Would you like some tea?"

"Okay. Sure." She followed Spike - William - into the kitchen, looking around at the apartment for the first time as she did. It was nice. It was really nice. Old-fashioned, she thought - that was odd - or was it, since Spike had grown up in the 19th century? Modern stuff too, of course - including a great-looking stereo system. Big tv (she wondered if he still watched soap operas every day). Laptop computer. But it felt old-fashioned. Lots of bookshelves, lots of books. Furniture that looked antique. Secretary desk that looked at least a century old. The kitchen was beautiful, and the late-afternoon sunlight (how weird was that?) was streaming in the windows. There was a shelf by the window with a basket on it, and two kittens asleep in it, curled up around each other. Somehow it didn't surprise her that Spi - William - had cats. "What are their names?" she asked.

"The black one is Christina and the grey one is Dante."

"As in the Rossettis?"

He looked surprised (why, when he was the one who'd gotten her to start reading poetry?) and then smiled shyly. "Yeah. They're brother and sister. Their mum was a stray. Got hit by a car." He looked sad.

"They look really young."

"Yeah, they're about four months, I think. Don't know for sure. There's another cat, I inherited him from, well - that's part of the story - but he's older - seven years old - his name's Merlin - he's probably asleep in Rosemary's - he misses her - " he stopped, seeing the look on her face, and hastily explained, "Rosemary was - she was a lady, an old lady. Helped me out when I first...was human again. Like a mum to me. Left me this place. Merlin was her cat. I promised her I'd take care of him..." he trailed off, looking down, awkward and embarrassed.

"She died?" Dawn asked gently.

"Yeah. About a year ago. Cancer." His eyes filled with tears again. Then he shook himself back to the present. "What kind of tea you fancy, Bit?"

"Do you have Earl Grey?"

"Of course. And - sit down." She sat.

_This is so weird. He's so different._ "You're so different," she blurted out.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, "I'm still the same person, Niblet. Just plus a heartbeat and minus a demon."

"Your demon is gone?" _Dumb, dumb question. Of __**course**__ his demon was gone!_

He gave a tight smile. "Either that or my testosterone level fell to a tiny fraction of what it was. Or maybe both."

She thought of various psychology classes she'd taken and found herself chuckling. "They should do a study of testosterone and vampires."

He flinched almost imperceptibly. Oh, god, she'd forgotten about the Initiative. They probably had done just that. He'd never told her exactly what he'd been through there, but she'd always sensed it was far worse than the others imagined. This was probably not a good time to bring it up. She tried to change the subject.

"So - do you have a job?"

"Yeah. I'm a chef."

"A what?"

"A chef." He seemed very busy making tea. "Milk and sugar?"

"Milk, please." He opened the fridge. No blood. Lots of vegetables. Weird.

"Where do you work?"

"Little vegetarian restaurant round the corner." He put a mug in front of her. "What about you?"

"I'm starting at the Columbia School of Journalism in August."

His eyes lit up and he broke into a grin. "That's wonderful, Niblet! Good for you!"

"Yeah." She wasn't ready to tell him about her life yet. Wasn't ready to forgive. "Now tell me the story." She took a sip of the tea.

He took a deep breath, then a sip of his own tea, then another deep breath, and began.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 2_

"I..." He looked down at the floor. There was silence for a few minutes. Then he went on, still looking at the floor, "I remember dying. I remember burning up. It seemed to go on forever." He swallowed. "Then the agony stopped. My body was gone. And then...it was...I don't think I can put it into words. It was..." He trailed off.

"Was it different from the first time you died?" she asked after another little silence.

He shook himself. "What? Oh. Yeah. Completely different. The first time, when I became a vampire, you know, it was more like losing consciousness and then waking up again. It was bloody fantastic. But this - it was more than that. Becoming a vampire was like becoming someone else. When I was a child I used to wish I could become a character in a story: go to sleep William the bloody crybaby and wake up a Knight of the Round Table. Becoming a vampire felt like that wish come true. It felt like stepping into a story and leaving the real world behind.

"But deep down – I would never have admitted it, ever – deep down it felt illusory. Hollow. I mean, when you get lost in a good story, you're losing yourself, but in a way you're _more_ you instead of less, you know? But being a soulless vampire was...it was...less." He paused. "God, I sound like a bloody..." He flushed a little - she'd never seen that before – and stopped, biting his lip.

She decided not to rescue him with another question. Instead she just sipped her tea and waited.

He continued, "When I died the second time, it was nothing like that." He looked up at her. "You know what they say about your life passing in front of your eyes?"

She nodded.

He looked back down at the floor. "The first time that didn't happen. The second time, it did. The pain was... And then it was gone and I saw my life - my life and my un-life - all of it. And then, it ended, and it was as though I was...free. And everything was okay, and peaceful, and..."

She struggled to keep her voice steady. "Were you in heaven?"

"I don't know."

"But you sound like what - like what Buffy said. About heaven."

He looked up. "What did she tell you, exactly?"

"She said she felt peaceful. And complete. And loved. And that she was still herself. And she knew everyone she loved was okay. What - what did she tell you?"

He looked down again. "Same thing."

"Was that what it was like? For you?" She'd taken refuge in that thought, when he was dead. But now that he was here again...

She thought of the yearning in Buffy's eyes. She didn't think she could bear it in both of them. But Spi - William - didn't have the aura of despair that had clung to Buffy that first year. Had he, when he first came back?

There was another silence. Finally he said, still looking down, "Sort of...yes...in a way. For a moment...or eternity, I don't know...I felt...like that. Everything was okay, everyone was okay, I was at peace, I was...complete. But then...it was as though...I...dissolved. Buffy said she was still herself. I wasn't. I mean, I was...but I wasn't."

His voice filled with awe as he spoke. "It was like dissolving and becoming...everything. I didn't exist. I was just part of...everything. I just was...the universe...every atom...every life...everything just _was_...it was...there's no words..."

He looked up then, and his eyes were shining with wonder.

She felt it too, vicariously, for a moment. And then it was replaced by a sick feeling of deja vu.

He saw it, and he was with her, again. "Hey. Hey, Niblet. It's not like that. It's not like that at all. What I experienced was amazing. But remembering it makes me like being alive more, not less." He got up and went over to her and put his arms around her. She let him hold her for a moment. Then she pulled away.

He went back to his chair and sat down. "I'm not sure it was heaven, anyway, at least not the way the Sunday school teachers think of it. I wonder if it wasn't just how I felt at the moment of my death. Eternity is timeless, y'know? Eternity in a moment, yeah? Maybe that _is_ heaven - one eternal moment. Maybe it's just the glimpse you get before oblivion. I don't know. Or maybe – maybe it had something to do with how I died. With the amulet. I don't know.

"But whatever it was, once I was alive again, it didn't make me wish to be dead again. God, I sound like such a bloody idiot. But no way round that." He took another deep breath. "Having experienced that - whatever it was - made me - when I was alive again, it made glad to be alive, okay?" He withdrew into defensiveness again, scowling into his teacup.

"Then why didn't Buffy want to live?"

He studied his tea for a minute, and then said in a low voice, "I don't know what Buffy experienced. I only know what she told me. I don't know what it felt like, to her. But it seems like...the thing that was good, for her, was that she was dead. That she wasn't alive anymore. That there wasn't any pain. That everything she had gone through was over. It wasn't about the experience itself."

Her college journalism instinct to sum it all up took over. "So basically, for her, heaven was not being alive, for you, heaven was a glimpse of something that made being alive seem even better than before?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"Okay, then. You still haven't told me how you got to be alive again."

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know. All I know is that one moment I was one with the entire bloody universe and the next moment I was lying in an alley in London. With a heartbeat."

She stared at him. "So you have no idea how it happened?"

"None."

Damn. THAT was annoying. But if he didn't know, he didn't know. "Okay. So tell me what happened next."

He looked back down at the floor. He didn't say anything for a while. The sounds of the street drifted in through the open window - cars, voices, birds (which she hadn't expected in the city), and the occasional airplane overhead. She waited.

Finally he continued. "I found myself lying in an alley with a bunch of rubbish bins. I had no idea where I was. Or what had happened. I was confused. Disoriented. Felt dizzy and sick. Remembered everything, but all the memories jumbled together and I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. And...I...I...I...didn't have any clothes on." He flushed again. "It was as though...as though my body, and only my body, had been re-created exactly as it was just before I was turned, brought into the 21st century, and my mind and my soul had been dropped into it. I was...terrified. I just lay there shaking for...I don't know how long. My memories... I couldn't make sense of what I remembered, there was just this mess of images and feelings, no rhyme or reason, no meaning. Just...terror."

_Buffy, when she had first returned, standing on the tower, asking "Is this Hell?"_

She wanted to reach over and take his hand, but he seemed to have curled into himself as he spoke, and she thought maybe giving him space would be better.

He seemed almost oblivious to her presence. "I don't know how long it was I stayed there. After a while, as the shock wore off...I tried and tried to make sense of all my memories. Get them into some sort of order. I wondered if maybe my whole life as a vampire had been a dream. But I could hear cars on the street. It was raining, and I was wet, and cold. And hungry, too. Very hungry. When I was turned, I hadn't eaten in a while. Had to find some way to get something to eat. But I couldn't go out in the street in nothing but my birthday suit. So I went through the rubbish bins. Found a few rags someone had thrown out. Put them on. Went out in the street. Wandered around a bit. Got strange looks. Got hungrier. Didn't want to beg. Finally did. Someone gave me 20p. Took it. Bought a bit of bread. Didn't know what to do or where to go. Went to another alley and slept. Spent a few days like that. Scrounging for food. Even tried stealing, but I was so weak and disoriented, I couldn't manage it. Couldn't think straight. Ate out of some rubbish bins, after a while. Crusts of bread. Then I got sick. Throwing-up sick. High fever. Had a 19th-century immune system, yeah? Germs had over a century of evolution on me. Eating out of rubbish bins hadn't helped. Lay there in an alley puking my guts out and shaking with fever. Got delirious. Finally had a lucid moment when I knew I had to get help. Ran out into the street, half-mad. Ran right in front of a car. Got hit."

Dawn had tears streaming down her face. He didn't seem to notice. He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor.

"Next clear memory was weeks later, in hospital. I'd been badly hurt by the car. Lots of broken bones, internal bleeding, concussion. Raging infections. Pneumonia. Nearly died. Got some vague memories..."

"Oh God, Spike...William." She was sobbing. He looked up, seemed to see her again, and his face changed from anguished memory to concern for her. He got up so quickly that he knocked his chair over, went to her, put his arms around her a second time, and she was crying on his shoulder. And feeling guilty because he was the one who had been through all that and yet he was comforting her.

"I'm sorry, Niblet. Shouldn't have said so much. Talking about it brings it back, is all. Got carried away. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said so much..."

She pulled away and glared at him. "Yes, you should! I asked. I want to know. I just...the thought of you...and I didn't know."

"How exactly could you have known?" he asked while setting his chair upright again. The sound of it clattering had evidently woken the kittens, who had come over to investigate. One of them - the black one, Christina - jumped up onto William's shoulder as he sat down again. The other one, the grey one - Dante - came over to Dawn, sniffed at her curiously, then jumped up onto her lap. She petted him and he purred. Christina purred and nuzzled William's ear, then jumped down onto his lap. He petted her. She began to knead his trousers with small sharp claws. He muttered "Ow" but didn't stop her. "Do you know why they do that?" he asked Dawn. "See, when they're nursing, they do that to help the milk flow. Later on, makes them feel secure."

She remembered her mother telling her that. Back before Dad had left and taken the cat with him. Of course, the memory was fake - she'd never met either her father or the cat in reality - but she'd stopped caring about that. It felt real.

She took another sip of her tea. "So what happened next? And no editing. I can deal."

He went on, continuing to pet Christina as he spoke. "I woke up in hospital. It was weeks later. I was in bad shape. And - I had a visitor. Rosemary. She had been the one who hit me with the car. Wasn't her fault, of course - I ran right out in front of it, delirious and all. But she felt terrible. She'd been the one to call an ambulance. She'd gone with me to hospital. She was wealthy and well-connected and she thought I'd get better treatment if someone was looking out for me than if they thought I was just a random homeless bloke. She waited the entire time I was in Casualty - you know, the Emergency Room. And the first thing I remember clearly, after the accident, weeks later, was her visiting me.

"And she'd worked a few things out. See, her husband's father was a Watcher. Her husband, Arthur, was supposed to be one, too, but he refused. He thought killing vampires was wrong. Thought vampires ought to have rights too. Refused to have anything to do with the Watchers. But when the First started killing off all the Watchers they could find, they killed Arthur, too. Didn't care that he wasn't a part of it.

"Rosemary was American - grew up in New York City. But she moved to England when she was in her twenties, and married Arthur, and they lived together in England, in Cambridge, for 37 years. Also lived in Africa for several years – they were both zoologists. Lived in Botswana. Studied lions."

Christina continued to purr on his lap. Dante continued to purr on hers.

"A few months after Arthur was killed, Rosemary decided to go back to America. Back to New York City. She was almost finished putting her affairs in England in order when I ran out in front of her car.

"Rosemary was a witch. A very powerful witch. After the accident, she had a feeling about me. And then, when she first visited me, and I was still delirious, some of the things I said – it got her thinking. She and Arthur had had some records that no one on the Watchers' Council knew they had. And she had lots of connections. She did some digging, and she worked out who I was, and what had happened. She couldn't work out how I'd become human again, but she knew it was - unprecedented. So she decided to stay in England for a while more.

"I was in hospital for months. In bad shape. Lot of pain. Very ill. And at first, I couldn't remember much. Concussion. A good thing: by the time I started to remember again, I knew enough not to tell the doctors the truth about what I remembered. Might have wound up in an asylum..." He shuddered. "I hate hospitals. They remind me of... I hate them. I was scared. Confused. In pain and no idea what was happening. Rosemary was an anchor. She helped me get through it.

"When they finally let me out of hospital - the accident was at the beginning of July, and they let me out in October - Rosemary took me home with her. Took care of me while I recovered.

"Recovery took a long time. Lot of physiotherapy. And I was on antibiotics for a year. I'd tested positive for consump...tuberculosis. My Mum...my Mum was dying of tuberculosis..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Guess I would have died of it, too, if I hadn't been turned. Anyway...I couldn't do much, for a long time. Rosemary and me - talked. I couldn't do much else. She was making a quilt. I helped her. Reminded me of when I used to help my Mum. And - we talked. Rosemary... Rosemary helped me. Listened. Helped me sort my memories. Helped me with...all of it."

"Rosemary also helped me get used to the modern world. Because, the odd thing was: as my memories came back, the memories of my life as a human, before I was turned, felt more recent than my memories of my life as a vampire. It's like - there's a line in _A Tale of Two Cities_, you know, where Sydney Carton asks Mr. Lorry if his childhood seems far away. And Mr. Lorry replies that if he'd asked twenty years ago he would have said yes, but that as he gets old, it's like completing a circle, and his childhood feels closer to him than midlife.

"It's like that, for me. My life as a vampire feels like it happened a long time ago. And everything that happened when I was human, before I was turned - that feels like the recent past. Stuff that happened when I was five years old feels closer in time than...than Sunnydale."

She drew in a sharp breath. He finally looked up at her. She knew she ought to just listen to the rest of the story, but she couldn't help asking - and she couldn't keep the accusation out of her voice, "Is that why you didn't contact us? We seem like just a dream to you?"

"It isn't like that. It doesn't feel like a dream. It feels like a memory of a long time ago."

"So we're ancient history now."

"No!" Christina had fallen asleep on his lap, but now she woke up, startled. She jumped down off his lap, and trotted out of the room, offended. Dante slept on in Dawn's lap. "It's not like that. It doesn't make it - it doesn't make _you_ - matter any less. Something that happened a long time ago can be more important than something that happened recently, right? And it wasn't because of that, that I didn't contact you. It was other things..."

"What other things?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have interrupted. Go on."

"It was...as I recovered - I felt out of place. Out of time. My life as a human seemed closer to me than my un-life as a vampire. The nineteenth century seemed closer than the twentieth. I felt like I had to learn to live in the modern world all over again. I'd never seen it in sunlight. And recovering took so long. I felt so weak. So helpless. And so unsure of everything.

"I wasn't sure, being human - I wasn't sure if I was the same person, yeah? Everything was different. I guess your body affects you more than you realize. The way my body reacts to everything... I mean - as a human - I get a little queasy at the sight of blood."

"WHAT?"

"I really do. It's weird. I can remember how it felt to be a vampire. I can remember the way I reacted when I saw or smelled blood then. I can remember how it felt - but now my body is different. So I react differently. And it's not just blood. It's everything. I'm still the same person. I just react differently to things."

She thought about that. "Kind of like how, when you're eight, the kissing scenes in a movie are boring and gross, but when you're fourteen, the kissing scenes are the best part?"

"Yeah. Kind of like that."

"Okay." She paused for a moment. "I can understand why you didn't contact us at first. But why not after you recovered?"

"I was scared."

"Of what?"

He was looking at the floor again. "I'm so different, as a human. I wouldn't be any use in a fight. I miss fighting, you know - I remember how exhilarating it was. But...I'm...kind of a coward and a weakling as a human. Couldn't imagine I'd be of any use to anyone. Especially...Buffy."

"So you thought Buffy would think you're less of a man or something? That's ridiculous!"

If you could bore a hole in linoleum by staring at it, his floor would have been swiss cheese by now. "Kind of ruin it, y'know? I mean...I died a hero. Went out in a blaze of glory. Kind of ruin the effect to come crawling back as a ninety-eight pound weakling."

She pushed Dante off her lap - he protested loudly and then left the room in a huff - and stood up. "You are a selfish bastard!"

"What?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might love you and need you regardless of whether or not you can fight? Did it ever occur to you that you're the closest thing I have to a brother? Did it ever occur to you that I missed you so much I sometimes wished I'd never been made human so I wouldn't have to hurt so much? Did it ever occur to you? Did it? And Buffy! She was devastated when you died! She was in love with you! And you were so worried about being remembered as a goddamn HERO that you couldn't act like a decent PERSON!" She was crying again – tears of rage.

He stood up and yelled back. "Dammit, Niblet, you KNOW I love you! You KNOW it! And if you don't know, you're an idiot! But I needed some time alone! I needed it! I needed to find out who I am as a human being, without input from the sodding Scoobies! I needed to find out what I wanted for myself, not what your sister wants from me! I knew if I went back, all weak and scared, I'd just wind up turning into her sodding puppet! I needed some goddamn TIME!" He was trembling. "I'm sorry, Niblet. If I could have contacted you, I would. But I couldn't ask you to keep a secret like that from Buffy. And I wasn't ready to see her. I knew if I saw her once, I wouldn't be able to stay away. I needed time. I'm sorry, Niblet. I'm so sorry."

She got it, then. Because she had done the same thing. She had deliberately chosen a college as far away from Buffy as possible. Because she had wanted to find out who she was, alone. Who she was when she wasn't a Key that had been made from the blood (created in the image?) of her powerful sister. She'd wanted to find out who she was when she was just Dawn Summers, not Buffy's little sister.

That's all he'd wanted, too, then. To be his own person.

She sat down again, and he sat down again, and she told him, that she got it. She told him why. Then she looked at him and realized something for the first time. "We're a lot alike, aren't we, Will?"

"That we are, Niblet. That we are."

They sat in silence for a while. A bird sang – it must have been right outside the window. She wondered if there was a nest on the window ledge.

Finally she asked, softly, "Where do we go from here?"

He laughed. She hadn't expected that. He picked up a napkin and threw it at her. She ducked. He laughed again. She laughed too. Then he said, "It's getting late. Are you hungry? I could throw something together."

"'Kay."

He got up and went to the fridge and opened it. "Pasta and vegetables okay?"

"Yeah. I'm, ah...a vegetarian."

"Me too."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah. Figured I have enough blood on my hands."

"Oh."

"But the cats need meat. Little predators, they are." He closed the fridge, got out two cans of cat food, one labeled for kittens, the other for "mature" cats, and started to open them. Within moments Christina and Dante appeared, and another cat, a large tabby. "That's Merlin," he explained unnecessarily. "Little monsters can hear a can opener a mile off."

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Being a vampire. Being able to hear better than a cat. Super-senses and super-strength and all that."

"Sometimes. Yeah, I miss it. Sometimes. But – like I said – it seems like a long time ago, now."

"So – what did you do? After you recovered and all?"

He finished feeding the cats and washed his hands before answering. "Rosemary had a lot of connections. She basically adopted me. Got me a fake birth certificate that said I was her son, and Arthur's son. They'd never had any children. And since she was an American citizen, and Arthur was British – I got dual citizenship. My birth certificate says I was born in Cambridge, England in 1977, to Rosemary and Arthur Hallows.

"So – you must have their name, now. No more Whitethorn?"

"I didn't want to lose my Mum's name, so took it as a middle name. William Whitethorn Hallows, now."

"It's a nice name."

"Thanks."

"When did you decide to go back to William?"

"Right off. It just felt...more _me_, y'know? I mean, it just feels more...right. Actually I...I... always thought of myself as William. Even when I was a vampire. Would never have admitted it, of course. But that's how I thought of myself. Deep down."

"I knew that."

He looked truly astonished. "How?"

"I dunno. Just knew."

He looked at her with that expression of his - love and awe and tenderness and a kind of reverence. She'd missed him so much.

After a moment he turned away, and got out a chopping board, and took vegetables out of the fridge, and got out a wicked-looking chef's knife, and started to chop.

"Can I help?"

"You're a guest!"

"I could still help." She got up.

"Sit!"

She sat.

"So – what happened next?"

"Rosemary was moving back to New York City. She'd grown up here. In this apartment, actually. Her family had had it since the twenties. Asked me if I wanted to go with her.

"So I did. Got a job as a bartender. Only really transferable skill I had, y'know? Did that for a while. Then, a friend of Rosemary's who owns the restaurant where I work now needed someone to help in the kitchen. I did a bit of that, found I liked it. 'M pretty good at it, too." He chopped vegetables as he spoke. He chopped like a professional. She really couldn't have helped much.

"You lived here?"

"For a while. Then got my own place – tiny little place in Queens. Long commute. But it was mine – first time, as a human, that I was on my own. Paying my own way, y'know."

"And then?"

He stopped chopping. "Rosemary got sick."

"You said – she had cancer?" _Just like Mom._

"Yeah. Breast cancer. She had, you know, chemotherapy. It helped. For a while. Made her so sick though..." He looked down at the floor again.

"You took care of her."

"Yeah. Moved back here, to help. Then, she was in remission, for a while. And then - it came back. And they said the chances that more chemo would help were very small. And...she decided...she decided not to have more chemo. Said that she wanted to enjoy the time she had left. She said...that the thing that was most important to her, more important than staying alive, was being herself. Being who she was. And that...if she spent her last months in and out of hospital, that wouldn't be Rosemary. We argued about it. We argued a lot. And finally, she got angry, and she said...she said...she said..." his voice dropped to a whisper. "She said that if she tried to prolong her life, it would feel like...like losing her soul."

Something clicked in Dawn's mind then. The shadow in his eyes whenever he'd talked about his Mum. _Oh, God. His Mum. He must have turned his Mum to save her. Only he didn't save her, he destroyed her. God._

He hadn't taken his eyes off the floor. "So...she had always wanted to go to the Galapagos islands. Never had gone. Asked me to go with her. We went. She was so happy. And – she died there. The way she wanted to. The way she had lived.

"There was a poet she loved – Mary Oliver. Had one of her poems done up in calligraphy for me, when I was recovering from the accident. Called 'Wild Geese' – thought it said something I needed to hear. But her favorite was a poem called 'When Death Comes' - and her favorite line was 'When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement' – and I...I put that on her gravestone: 'A bride married to amazement' – because that's what she was..." and he was crying. Really crying. And she was too. They held each other, and cried.

And finally they stopped, and he kissed the top of her head, and laughed, and said, "We certainly have gone all out with the waterworks today, haven't we Niblet?"

And she nodded, and laughed too, and said, "I'm REALLY hungry now!"

And he went back to chopping the vegetables.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 3_

"I can throw something together," he'd said. Hah. This was the best meal she'd had in - actually she couldn't remember when she'd had anything this good. She told him so. He tried to brush it aside, but couldn't manage to hide how much it pleased him. Good.

She told him about her life, over dinner.

She told him about that first hard year after he'd died, with all the relics of her fabricated childhood buried beneath the Sunnydale crater, the Scoobies dispersed throughout the world, and Buffy distant and depressed. He looked stricken, but he didn't say anything. He just kept listening, and she just kept talking.

She told him about going to college and getting a fresh start. She told him about the courses she'd taken and the friends she'd made and the jobs she'd had. She told him about her first boyfriend and how that had ended (not well) (William, of course, was outraged on her behalf). She told him about getting interested in journalism, and the articles she'd written, and the awards she'd won (William, of course, was thrilled on her behalf). She told him about getting into Columbia, and how excited she was.

She told him about graduation. And about arriving in New York City - yesterday. And - she suddenly realized how late it must be. It had grown dark - he'd put a light on back while she was telling him about that sadistic chemistry professor her freshman year, and that was at least an hour ago.

He realized what she was thinking. "Where are you staying, Niblet?" he asked.

"A youth hostel."

"The one on 103rd and Amsterdam?"

"Yeah."

"Would you rather stay here?"

Actually, that would be very nice. She suddenly felt exhausted. It had been quite a day. And the thought of another subway ride and then spending the night in a room with nine other women wasn't terribly appealing. "It's too late to cancel my reservation."

"I'll pay for it."

She started to protest and he cut her off. "It's the least I can do. Where's your luggage?"

"Oh, I just brought the backpack. Didn't seem to make sense to bring too much, until I've found a place to live."

"You were planning on staying at the hostel until you found a place to live?"

"Well, yeah."

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. "Okay, okay. It's - well, see - Columbia Journalism school is a ten-month program -it starts the very beginning of August. So it would be hard to get a real summer job - I'd have to leave it at the end of July. And it's a really intensive program - they say you can't work part-time during it. I worked all through college, but I guess I can't next year. So, Buffy's living in London right now and she asked if I wanted to stay with her for a few weeks, take a break before starting journalism school. I said yes. But - we kind of, um, had a big fight. See - she and Giles paid for my college, and..." William looked puzzled and she explained, "They finally started paying Buffy for Slaying and all."

"About bloody time," he muttered.

"Yeah, well. Anyway...she and Giles paid for my college. Tuition, that is. I paid for my own room and board. And they're going to pay for journalism school, too. And since I can't work and New York's so expensive, Buffy suggested I live with a bunch of Slayers next year. See, the Watchers' Council owns property all over the world and there's Slayers everywhere now, and Buffy thought I could live with some of the ones in New York. And it sounded like a good idea, but after a few weeks living with Buffy - I hadn't lived with her for a while, and - I just can't stand living with Slayers. It's not my world. It's hers. And - I had a big fight with Buffy and I told her that I don't need her money and I got a plane ticket and flew to New York City and now I need to find a job and a place to live. On my own." _And I'm realizing now that it was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life. And I've done a lot of stupid things._ She looked at William defiantly.

He looked at her without saying anything for a minute. Then he muttered, "Bloody hell," and got up and started clearing the table.

"You think it was stupid, don't you?" she asked. He didn't answer. Probably because she was so tired she found herself adding petulantly, "You used to always be on _my_ side."

He turned and looked at her with such tenderness that she almost cried. Again. "I _am_ on your side, Niblet. And I don't think it was stupid. Or maybe it was - but it's the same kind of stupid that I am. I'd likely have done the exact same thing. We're a lot alike, as you said." He paused. "But - "

"But you think I don't know what I've gotten myself into," she finished for him. "Yeah, I know. One day in this city, a look at the prices - kind of made me realize that. I guess - I'm probably going to have to go crawling back to Buffy. Ugh. Either that or take out a very large student loan. And I don't want to have to do that."

He seemed extremely interested in his wine glass. "Or," he said, "you could stay here."

"You mean until I find someplace cheap?"

"No. I mean until you graduate. There is no 'cheap' in New York City."

"For - for how much rent?"

"For _no_ rent."

"I couldn't possibly - "

"Look, Niblet, I own this place. Rosemary left it to me. I couldn't possibly afford it otherwise. She helped me out. I'd like to help you out."

"But I couldn't - "

"This place is too big for one person. Has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Practically a palace by New York City standards."

"But - "

"You can have the bathroom that doesn't have the cat litter in it." He said it so earnestly that she almost laughed.

"But I couldn't -"

He scowled at her. "You said I'm the closest thing you have to a brother. Buffy and Giles are allowed to pay for your education, but I'm not allowed to do this for you?" _Definitely a challenge there._

She was too tired to deal with this. She tried to think of a coherent reply, and found herself rubbing her eyes instead.

He softened as he realized, "You're still on English time."

"Yeah. And I didn't get much sleep last night, either."

"You should get some sleep, Niblet. You don't have to decide anything tonight."

"I have to call the hostel and tell them I won't be coming." She got out her cell phone. William went to make up a bed for her. When she turned her cell phone on - she'd turned it off earlier - there was a text message. From Buffy. Great. She had sent Buffy a text message with the name and address of the hostel - to avert Slayer search parties being sent after her. _Please tell me she didn't call the hostel to check on me._ No, thank god. Buffy asked her to please call. She wanted to talk.

Dawn called the hostel. Then, she sent a text message to Buffy. "I'll call you tomorrow." she wrote. She hesitated, and then added, "Love, Dawn." She turned off the cell phone and put it away. That would be an interesting conversation. _"Hi, Buffy Guess what? I found a place to live in New York City! For free! And - it's with Spike! Did I mention that he's alive? And human?"_ Yeah. That would be fun.

Not tonight, though. Too tired.

* * *

But she found she couldn't sleep right away. She lay in the dark, listening to the sounds of the city through the open window. It had been sunny this afternoon, but it had clouded over after sundown, and now it was raining. Outdoors, the rain fell over the streets and buildings and light and people of Manhattan. Here, in this room, she was warm and dry and safe. 

The streetlights made patterns on the ceiling. She held up her hands, as she sometimes did alone at night. Was it her imagination that they seemed to glow green?

William had been a human, and then a demon, and now he was human again. She had been pure energy, and now she was human. But sometimes - sometimes she _felt_ like the Key. In dark and quiet places, like this room. Sometimes she could almost touch the other dimensions that she had once been used to unlock. Sometimes it seemed like far-away voices she couldn't quite hear. (Not that she would have told anyone else that - would have made her sound insane.) Like the sounds of the city around her, kept at bay by protective walls. Out there, whispering. On a rainy night, full of mystery.

She sat up and turned on the light. This had been Rosemary's childhood room, William had said. It was a beautiful room. She had noticed the children's books on the bookshelves.

She looked at the books. Some of them were books she remembered from her own childhood - though her copies were gone, lost in the rubble of Sunnydale. One caught her eye: _The Saturdays_, by Elizabeth Enright. She picked it up and opened it. There was an inscription: "Happy Birthday to Rosemary with love from Mother" - and it was dated 1945.

She remembered her own mother reading this book out loud to her. How old had she been? Eight? Of course it hadn't really happened. Yet - it had.

Had Rosemary's mother read it to her, too? She felt an odd sense of connection to a girl she had never known, who had grown into a woman she had never known. But - William was family to her, and Rosemary was family to him - did that make Rosemary family to her, too?

She opened the book and began to read. At the end of the fourth paragraph of the first chapter she found words she remembered - they had seemed so foreign to her, as a child in Los Angeles, but she had loved them:

_All the city sounds that could be heard above the rain were wet sounds; the long whish of passing automobiles, damp clopping of horses' hoofs, and the many voices, deep, or high, or husky, that came hooting and whistling out of the murky rivers at either side of the city._

She stopped reading and put the book away. She sat thinking for a while, petting Merlin, who had chosen to sleep with her. Then she turned the light back off, and lay down again, and fell asleep listening to Merlin purring and the voices of the city and the rain, and feeling a strange sense of homecoming.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

_Note:  
The repeated-with-variations phrase "I don't want to end up simply having visited this world" is the last line of Mary Oliver's poem "When Death Comes."_

_The words "it seemed that she had become inseparable from the dragon's wings" allude to the last four lines of Mary Oliver's poem "Gannets."_

* * *

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 4_

She dreamed of the dragon. She had often dreamed of the dragon. She remembered the way the great serpent had screamed as he fell from the sky as though cast forth from heaven. She had often wondered what had become of him, after the portal had closed, and he had been trapped in a dimension not his own.

She walked with him through a forest. She put her hand on his long neck, steadying him when he stumbled. "You have a body now," she told him. Her hand glowed green.

* * *

She dreamed of the tower. The portals opened. The dragon fell from the sky. "It has to have the blood," she told Buffy. "It has to have the blood." 

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"I can't," she said.

"You must," said Buffy.

She turned to the dragon. He was tied with such fine ropes. If only he had been strong enough to break free.

"Shallow cuts," she said.

"It's alright," said the dragon. "I understand. But I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."

"You won't have," she promised as she cut him. "You'll live."

* * *

She walked alone through the streets of Sunnydale. It was deserted. She carried a baby. She came to her home. She climbed the stairs to the porch. She entered the house. William was in the kitchen. She handed the baby to him and turned away.

* * *

She sat with the dragon, looking up at the stars. "I miss my home," said the dragon. 

"I'm sorry," she said.

"The mother will die for the child," he said, and flew away. She watched him until he disappeared among the stars.

* * *

She dreamed of the tower. She tugged at the ropes to no avail. 

"It has to have the blood," she told Buffy.

"You cheated," said Glory.

"You don't belong here," said Drusilla.

"I made a promise to a lady," said Spike.

"I don't want to end up simply having visited this world," said her mother.

* * *

She came to her childhood home in Los Angeles. She wandered alone through the rooms. Giles was in the kitchen. "No one will ever know, will they?" she asked him. 

"No," he said. "No one will ever know."

* * *

She walked again through the streets of Sunnydale. This time she carried a young child. She came to her home. She climbed the stairs to the porch. She entered the house. William was in the kitchen. She handed the little girl to him and turned away.

* * *

The dragon was beside her on the tower. "The mother will die for the child," he said. 

"Please don't," she begged.

"I must," he said. "I am the Key." He ran to the edge of the tower and dove into the light.

* * *

She walked through the cemetery with Tara. They sat by Buffy's grave. Tara picked flowers and made a wreath for her. 

"They're inseparable from the body," said Tara. "Energy can be neither created nor destroyed. It can only be transformed."

She put the wreath in her hair.

* * *

She walked through the streets of London. It was raining. She carried a young man. She put him down. He was dead. She cradled him in her arms. She wept. 

She picked him up and carried him again. The dragon waited for them.

"The mother will die to give life to the child," the dragon said.

The young man became a newborn in her arms. She put him down. She kissed him on the forehead. "Take care of them for me, William," she said.

"The King of Cups always takes care of the little ones," said Drusilla.

"They're heavy," said William. He carried three children.

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"No," she said. "He's going to eat me. I want to have wings, you see."

"Don't be afraid," said William. "I've been eaten. I didn't want to end up simply having visited this world."

"I ate him," said the dragon. "He fed me."

"You can eat me now," she said. "You've fed me long enough."

"Come along, then," said the dragon.

"But no one will ever know," she said.

"I'll know, Niblet," said William. "You haven't simply visited this world."

"Kill the dragon," said Buffy.

"Let the dragon eat you," said William.

"I haven't simply visited this world," she said.

She climbed on the dragon's back and they rose up from the pavement together, and as they flew it seemed that she had become inseparable from the dragon's wings.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 5_

She awakened slowly, moving upwards through the waters of her mind until she broke through to the air of the darkened room.

She felt as though she had been asleep for a very long time and was surprised to find Merlin still sleeping beside her. It was still raining outside. She looked at the clock on the bedside table. The digital display glowed green. 3:07 a.m.

She felt as though she ought to remember something. But she was too tired. Cold and tired, as though her body's warmth had been completely drained. And yet...strangely peaceful. She unfolded the extra blankets and cuddled up to Merlin. He purred as she fell asleep again.

The second time she awoke the rain had stopped and Merlin was gone. She looked at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Maybe it was afternoon in London, but...

The third time she awoke it was nearly ten and she finally felt rested. She lay in bed for a few minutes feeling warm and happy. Then she remembered that she had to call Buffy today. She got up.

* * *

When she went into the kitchen William was making strawberry pancakes. He'd gone to the Farmer's Market early and found the first strawberries of the season, and was nearly dancing with enthusiasm over them. Dawn thought that it was a good thing that Spike had never been in Angel's situation with the soul: it didn't take much to make him happy. 

She did hope, though, that he wasn't making pancakes because he felt obligated; she would have been happy with cold cereal. But he told her that he really enjoyed it. "To misquote Ratty in _The Wind in the Willows_: there is nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in the kitchen. I'm just lucky to be able to earn my living from it."

That reminded her that today was a normal working day – a Wednesday, in fact. Had it really been only two days ago that she'd gotten on the plane in London? It seemed like years had gone by since then. "Do you have to work today?" she asked.

"No. The restaurant is small. We're open Thursdays through Sundays, for dinner only. I work 2 p.m. to midnight those days."

"That's a long day. Must be tiring."

"It is. But it's nice having three days a week to myself."

"So you're free today?"

He flipped a pancake and looked uncomfortable. "Well...I do have...something...this afternoon."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked. Okay, that was both out of left field and completely not her business. But she had wondered about it, and she was curious.

William looked surprised. "What? No. I..."

"What then?" She knew she was being dreadfully nosy. But when had Dawn Summers ever not been nosy? She'd been ferreting out information that was none of her business as far back as she could remember. Sometimes she wondered if the monks had made her that way for a reason other than driving Buffy around the bend.

William looked both embarrassed and annoyed. "I work in a soup kitchen, okay? No need to make a thing of it." He glared at her as though daring her to laugh.

For a moment she wasn't quite sure why he was embarrassed. Then she realized that she was probably the first person he'd met since becoming human again who had known him as a vampire. It _was_ strikingly different from his Big Bad image.

She was careful not to even imply amusement as she nodded casually and said, "I did that in college."

He relaxed a little as he turned his attention back to the pancakes. After a moment's silence he said softly, "It's just...I've been there myself, y'know?"

He stole a shy glance at her as though to gauge her reaction. She nodded.

After another minute of focus on the pancakes he added, even more softly, "And – I've eaten enough people in my time. Makes sense to feed 'em now."

Dawn had an odd moment of deja vu. That reminded her of...something. But she didn't take the time to try and remember what it was. She wanted to reassure William that she respected and admired him as a human.

"You're a good man, William," she said. His head shot up and he gave her a piercing look which puzzled her. He was probably surprised by the cliche-ish-ness of it. Yeah, it was a dumb thing to say. But it had gotten the point across. She asked if she could help with the breakfast preparations, and he let her help, and everything was comfortable again.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, when the pancakes were done and they had sat down at the table and started to eat, she wrecked the comfortableness. She mentioned that she had to call Buffy today. William choked on a bite of pancake. "W- What are you going to tell her?" 

"What do you want me to tell her?"

"I couldn't ask you to keep it secret from her."

"It would be a bit hard if I'm living with you."

"She has to know. But you shouldn't have to – I could – "

"I don't mind telling her.

He looked like he was about ready to bolt from the room. Obviously, he still had feelings for Buffy. Well, in her omniscient younger sister opinion, Buffy still had feelings for him, too. She felt an odd hope rising. He and Buffy were the closest thing she had to parents. If there was a chance...

He hadn't asked, but maybe he was afraid to. "She's not seeing anyone," she informed him.

He looked more miserable rather than less. Why wasn't that good news to him?

Oh.

_Buffy, sobbing in her arms. "I told him that I loved him, Dawnie. I told him that I loved him, and he didn't believe me!"_

She was well aware that she was yet again meddling in things that were none of her business. But...surely it would be better for both of them if at least they had the same information? If they didn't get back together because they were wrong for each other, that was one thing. But if they didn't get back together because of a misunderstanding...she couldn't bear that.

She made a decision. "She meant it, you know."

He looked confused.

"She meant it when she told you she loved you." She regarded him fiercely. He looked away.

_Don't you dare disbelieve me. Not after you left me to cope with her broken heart._

_No, not just broken heart. Broken soul. And it wasn't his fault._

He didn't answer for a minute. Then he said, still not looking at her, "Even if that's true...that was a long time ago."

"Five years." Oh, wait, it seemed like more than that to him, didn't it? "Or, I guess – longer for you."

He didn't say anything.

"And you still love her."

"Yes." He said it so softly that she had to strain to hear.

"I think she still loves you too."

"Maybe she loves what I was. But I'm so different now."

"She's different too. She's changed a lot." _Healed a lot. Not entirely. But a lot._ She'd told him last night about Buffy's depression in the year after he'd died, and she'd told him that Buffy was fine now – but she hadn't told him the source of her recovery. "She had a couple of years of counseling. Saw a psychologist who knows about the demon world and all. He said Buffy had severe post-traumatic stress disorder."

"I could have told 'em that."

"Well, yeah. But the point is, she's worked a lot of stuff out. And you have too. You're both different, and –"

"I'm different in a bigger way than psychotherapy."

"- and maybe you can get to know each other again."

_"Straighten up their mess with togetherness..." Geez, Dawn. Indulging your Parent Trap fantasies._ Pity the monks hadn't thought to make her an identical twin.

William was quiet for a while and then said, "She's going to be furious with me for not contacting her."

"Well, yeah."

His hand had gone to his nose as though to shield it. Oh. His experience with Buffy's anger was different from hers...

She took a deep breath. "She told us what she did to you."

"She WHAT?"

"About a year after you died. We had a Scooby reunion thing, and Buffy sat us all down and told us about...about...that she had...that she...that she...abused you. She told us about...about...like that...that time at her birthday party when you were so beat up and you told us that you'd run into a demon but Buffy told us that it was her and - "she babbled on nonsensically, even though she knew from the storm of emotions on William's face that she ought to stop. " – and she feels awful about it, and everybody kind of realized, you know, that, you know..."

"Canonized me, did you lot? Scooby College of Cardinals decided that since Spike was out of the picture it was safe to officially declare him to have been an actual PERSON? Takes such conviction, that. I'm touched."

_So, the snarkiness wasn't entirely from the demon._

"I don't think you're being fair. The Scoobies aren't a hive mind..."

"They were at one point."

"Whatever. Willow was always nice to you and you know it. And Xander had issues too and he's worked a lot out and I think you guys have a lot in common and you could be friends if you gave each other a chance. And Giles admitted he was wrong and he feels bad about – "

"-trying to KILL me-"

"-yeah, well, he says he's sorry."

"And Giles is an honorable man."

Dawn was starting to get mad now. "You know, Buffy has her flaws, but there's one thing she never does. She never, ever, holds a grudge. And that's a lot more than can be said for you."

His eyes widened. "Touche, Niblet. You're entirely right." But he didn't start eating again – he hadn't taken a bite since she mentioned calling Buffy – he just pushed a bit of pancake around on the plate and chewed on his lower lip.

Dawn wondered at the intensity of his reaction. It seemed like the big deal to him wasn't really with the Scoobies as a group – it was with Giles. Sunnydale seemed longer ago to him than his childhood did – so why was it still such a fraught issue for him?

She suddenly remembered the time that Willow's spell had wiped all their memories. Spike had assumed that Giles was his father. Not a coincidence, she realized. For some odd reason Giles had been a father-figure to Spike, and though Spike would never have admitted it, he had longed for Giles' approval. He must have felt deeply betrayed by Giles' actions.

And now...it seemed like William's adoption by Rosemary had helped him resolve his Mommy issues, but maybe he still hungered for a father figure.

"William...how old were you when your father died?"

He looked up, surprised, "What? Two."

Yup. Made sense.

William, though, wanted to change the subject. "What's Willow doing now?"

"She's finishing her doctorate at Berkeley. And she met a woman named Rebecca, and they got married last year."

William's face lit up. "That's great!"

"And Xander met a slayer named Zoe and they got married a year ago. They live in San Francisco, so they're close to Willow and Rebecca."

William started eating again, and for the rest of breakfast Dawn filled him in on the lives of the Scoobies. He wanted to hear every detail. After all, he did love soap operas.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_Note on this chapter:  
The film which Giles had been made to watch on Xander's birthday is __Star Trek III: The Search for Spock; the line "My logic is uncertain where my son is concerned" is spoken by Sarek._

* * *

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 6_

"Buffy, do stop pacing."

"She said she would call today. Why doesn't she call?"

"It's only mid-afternoon in New York."

"But she only left two days ago! She's still on British time! She should have called by now!"

Giles wondered how Buffy would have dealt with having a daughter who ran away and did not contact her family for three agonizing months. He doubted that she would have done well in Joyce's place. Or his own. But this was probably not the time to point that out. "You could call her...again."

"I did. Her cell phone is off. Anything could have happened to her!"

"Dawn is a very capable young woman. I find it far more likely that she is expressing her irritation with you than that she is in any kind of trouble."

"Maybe I should call the New York Slayers and – "

"Buffy."

"I know, I know, I'm being over-protective again."

"Quite. Would you like more tea?"

"You really think I need more caffeine?"

"Tea is soothing."

Buffy snorted. "Okay, then."

* * *

She started to follow him into the kitchen, then stopped and asked, "What's that?" 

Giles followed her gaze to the oddly-shaped rock on his desk. "That was found in Antarctica on the Watchers' Council expedition."

"What is it?"

"We don't know."

Buffy looked alarmed. "That's never good."

"Unknown objects found in Antarctica are far less likely to be dangerous than unknown objects found on Hellmouths."

"Yeah, but still...aren't you guys supposed to give us the heads-up when you find stuff like that?"

"To quote from our charter, only if it is 'relevant'."

Buffy was suddenly in her role as head of the Slayers' Council. "I would like to be informed regardless of whether you believe it to be relevant."

"As you inform us of all your activities?"

"We tell you what we're doing. Mostly."

Giles just looked at her. "As you did in Sydney?"

"That was an anomaly."

Giles raised his eyebrows.

"I know, I know. Trying to control Slayers is like herding cats."

"Really. I cannot imagine what you mean."

Buffy picked up a cushion off the couch and threw it at him.

Giles ducked, and went into the kitchen to make more tea.

* * *

Buffy leaned against the kitchen counter. "Giles...do you think I was wrong?" 

"About?"

"Dawn."

_Please do not put me in the middle of this._ "I understand both of your points of view."

"And you're not going to budge from Switzerland."

"No."

"I just want to make sure she's okay!"

"She is an adult, Buffy."

"Adults need help sometimes."

Giles winced at the bitterness in her voice.

A line from one of the films that they had all been made to watch on Xander's birthday a few years back flashed through his mind, _'My logic is uncertain where my son is concerned.'_

From childhood he had prized clarity of understanding; from childhood he had been trained to separate truth from illusion; from childhood he had trusted his own observations. Sometimes he had ignored the discerning eye in the back of his mind; sometimes he had outright rebelled against it - but always he had known that he could not cry ignorance; he erred only when he surrendered to his own desires. Always, he had trusted that if he took care to question his biases and put aside his own preferences, his judgments would be accurate.

It had been painful to realize how clouded his judgment had been where Buffy was concerned. There had been horror in the gradual recognition, five years ago this summer, that Dawn's insistence that Buffy needed professional help was correct. And he had failed to see it.

"Giles, the water is boiling."

He came back to himself.

"You were all lost-in-thought-y," Buffy said.

"Yes...Buffy," he began carefully, "I have told you...that I have recognized...that my judgments...where you are concerned...have at times...been...wrong."

"Yeah. We've been through all that. Nobody's perfect."

"Yes. But I do wonder if perhaps your...over-protectiveness...with Dawn does not have something to do with your having been...under-protected."

"Duh!"

Giles felt a stab of irritation.

Buffy sighed. "But knowing why you're doing something doesn't make it easier to stop doing it."

Giles' annoyance disappeared. "No. It certainly doesn't."

"And Dawn's..."

"...as much a daughter as a sister to you. I do understand."

"And rationality goes out the window."

(_'My logic is uncertain where my son is concerned.'_) He nodded.

Giles finished making the tea and they returned to the living room and sat down.

* * *

"So do you have a theory on the rock thing-y?" Buffy asked. 

"Well...it is rather...unlikely..."

"Why do I have a feeling that it has something to do with your whole tracking-down-all-the-lost-texts- that-are-of-no-interest-to-anyone-except-historians project?"

"Our discovery in Egypt was unprecedented!"

"Yeah, yeah. You went to the previously-undisclosed-locations to get the copies of all the texts the First destroyed so you could create a new library and make  
copies-of-the-copies to seal away in new undisclosed locations and you wound up finding a fragment of a text that no one knew existed that referred to other texts that no one knew existed and ever since then it's been Watcher Fun With Archaeology. And you've spent a ton of time and money and haven't discovered anything that is actually useful."

"Our Allocations Committee doesn't see it that way."

"Your Allocations Committee doesn't live in reality.

"And yours does?"

Buffy laughed. "Okay, _no_ Allocations Committee lives in reality. But anyway – what's up with the rock and the lost texts?"

"One of the re-discovered Sumerian texts refers to an even more ancient record it calls _The Song of the Origin_. It describes it as having been 'woven in stone, broken in fire, hidden in ice,' and – "

"- and you think this thing is it?"

"A part of it. Possibly. Jason believes – "

"Jason Margrave? He's one of your recruits, isn't he? The one who's going to the Columbia Journalism school in the fall, like Dawn?"

"Yes. Very bright young man. He believes that this rock may be a fragment of _The Song of the Origin_."

"But you think that's - 'unlikely'?"

"Well, yes. It seems highly improbable. Jason is still working on translating the Sumerian text. As yet we are working with only fragments of information."

"What's _The Song of the Origin_ supposed to be about?"

"Even that we do not know. Jason is hoping the complete translation of the Sumerian text will tell us. But it may not. It is frustrating, because one of the few texts destroyed by the First which we have not been able to obtain copies of might have cast light on the subject."

"Something that refers to _The Song of the Origin_?"

"Something that _may_ refer to it."

"Huh?"

"You know of the schism in the Watchers' Council during the English Civil War?"

"You've mentioned it."

"During that time, both sides feared that texts would be lost forever, and both sides devised ways to hide copies. One of the texts we have recently discovered is a catalog of those hidden copies. Apparently, copies were given secretly to the Hallows family for safe-keeping, but the record of the transaction was lost during the war. I've found other previously-lost records that indicate that the Hallows family kept the texts and passed them down through the generations, to safeguard them from any future political turmoil."

"Where are they now, then?"

"Arthur Hallows was a close childhood friend of an uncle of mine. As a young man, though, he developed some rather...idiosyncratic...ideas. He believed that killing vampires was evil, and he became a pacifist."

"A PACIFIST about VAMPIRES?"

"Yes. Quite. I do believe his intentions were good. He declared himself a Conscientious Objector and left the Council. He was widely reviled – 'idealistic idiot' was the kindest thing Quentin Travers ever said about him. And his father disowned him. But he stuck to his principles."

"Guess I gotta give him points for guts."

"Yes, he was courageous, though misguided."

"And you think he has the records?"

"I think he may have had them. But he was killed by the First."

"Did he have any kids?"

Giles was surprised by Buffy's interest. But then, she was trying to distract herself from Dawn's failure to call. "That's the odd thing. I kept track of him over the years, and while I know that he was married to an American woman – she died a year ago – I don't recall hearing that they ever had children. But in my attempts to track down the lost texts, I've found records that indicate that Arthur and his wife had a son in 1977."

"So you think the son has the records?"

"Possibly. I'm attempting to locate him. Most of what he would have is redundant. But the catalog does mention one text of which all other copies are lost – and the title of that text is _Key to the Origin_."

"'The Origin' meaning _Song of the Origin_?"

"We're not sure."

"Does any of this have any possibility of being useful?"

"Buffy, it is possible that _The Song of the Origin_ might answer many questions about the origins of demons on earth!"

"And this matters in 2008 why?"

Giles sighed. Buffy would never be interested in knowledge for the sake of knowledge. Very well.

Buffy grinned. "I'm not criticizing, really!"

Her phone rang then.

She dove for it, answered it, and then scowled. "It's another text message." She read the message and said, "It is from Dawn. She says I should check my e-mail."

"You may use my computer if you like."

"Thanks."

Giles took the teacups into the kitchen to wash, to give her privacy.

* * *

She was at the computer for a long time. He did not wish to interrupt, so he scrubbed the sink, which did not need it. Then he cleaned out the fridge. Then he scrubbed the stovetop. 

"Giles." He looked up. Buffy was leaning against the doorjamb. She was white as a ghost.

"Buffy! What's wrong? Is Dawn alright?"

"She's...fine," she said distantly. "I have to go."

"Are you alright?"

"I – I have to go."

"What has happened? What is it?"

"I have to go. Now."

She turned and headed towards the door.

"Buffy – your handbag."

"Oh. Yeah." She took it without seeing it.

"Buffy. What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I have to go."

"Would you like me to drive you home?"

"No. Thanks. I have to go."

"Buffy! Do you even have a stake?"

"A spike?"

"A stake."

"Yeah. I have a stake. Thanks for the tea. G'night."

"Buffy, please tell me what is going on."

"I have to go." And she left.

Giles wondered if he should go after her and decided against it. Even in a state such as this, she was capable of defending herself. He had seen it before.

But he was shaken. It was rare for Buffy to be so dazed. He wondered what information could possibly have been in Dawn's e-mail that had so stunned her sister.

It was only 9 o'clock in the evening. He made himself some more tea, picked up a book, and tried to read. He couldn't concentrate.

His flat had been painted that spring, and some of his books were still in boxes. Arranging them back on shelves might be a good way to occupy his mind.

At the bottom of a box he found a volume he had not looked at in a long time: his father's unofficial journal of his time as Watcher for a Slayer named Rachel. It had only been for a short time – like so many Slayers, Rachel had been killed less than a year after she was called.

Giles picked up the book and opened it. His father's small precise handwriting filled the pages. He began to read.

_...Rachel walks in a world that I can see but never enter. It is not because I am a part of her world that I can guide her, but because I am outside of it, able to observe it as a whole..._

_...Rachel has come to trust me. It pains me to recognize that she is ignorant of my inevitable betrayal..._

_...Her name means "lamb." Ironic, since that is what a Slayer is, in the end: a sacrificial lamb..._

_Mount Moriah approaches. And I know, to my grief, that the world is Isaac, and Rachel is the ram..._

"And rationality goes out the window," Buffy had said. Yes – and no. He loved her as a daughter. But he was sworn to protect the world above all else.

* * *

The phone rang. He picked it up. It was Jason. He glanced at the clock. Irritating Americans, calling after 10 p.m. 

Jason, though, was oblivious to the time. "Giles – I've translated fourteen more lines – I'm e-mailing you an encrypted attachment. And, Giles..."

Giles listened. Jason's voice seemed to get farther and farther away.

"Giles?"

"Thank you, Jason," he said.

He put down the phone. He went to the computer and logged onto his e-mail. He downloaded the attachment. It took a long time. He read the translation. He read the translation again. He read the translation a third time.

He logged out of his e-mail. He turned the computer off. He took his teacup into the kitchen and washed it.

He got ready for bed.

He went to his bedroom and got into bed. He turned out the light. He stared into the dark.

_"We are NOT talking about this."_

_"Yes we bloody well are!"_

_"Tell me to kill my sister."_

_"She's not your sister."_

_"She's more than that. She's me."_

_"I've sworn to protect this sorry world. And sometimes that means saying and doing things that other people can't. They shouldn't have to._

_"You're a killer!"_

He wondered who the ram would be this time.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 7_

_**April, 2001**_

_They always looked like UFOs, those evening flights taking off from Newark airport. The weirdly large stars seemed to hover over the horizon, and then they would shrink and disappear as the aircraft turned, vanishing into the ether, leaving the buildings of New Jersey alone, while the planes flew off and away to their legendary destinations._

_Maybe, some of them, to Prague..._

_"Jason, is your homework done?" Mom asked from the doorway. She flicked on the overhead light and the planes and lights of New Jersey were gone._

_"Not yet," Jason said._

_"Well, get to it, then."_

_"Mom..." Jason paused. "Mom - when can I go to Prague?"_

_"Jason. I don't even know if your father is still in Prague."_

_Jason scowled. "Why wouldn't he be?"_

_"Oh, sweetie. I probably shouldn't have told you about any of it. I knew him so briefly..."_

_"Long enough," Jason pointed out._

_"Jason." His mother's voice had a warning note._

_"Can't you tell me __**anything**__ about him?"_

_"Sweetie. There's really not much to tell. I was doing research for my dissertation. Sam was four years old - he was staying with Richard while I went on my research trip. It was my first time behind the Iron Curtain. And I was young. And...when I met your father...it was so brief...and it was 1985 in Prague...and I didn't want to get him in trouble with the authorities...I didn't ask him any questions. He didn't ask me any questions. And then I had to leave. And it would have been hard to keep in touch. We just left it at that."_

_"And wherever he is, he doesn't even know about me."_

_"No. I didn't realize I was pregnant until after I was back in New York."_

_"I want to find him."_

_"When you're older, Jason. We'll find him when you're older. I promise."_

* * *

_**August, 2001**_

_The New Jersey skyline was shrouded in liquid gold, melding upwards into green, into blue, into purple, into black. Below, the dark cliffs were sprayed with the lights of human invention, and the Hudson river was awash in reflected flame._

_A single sailboat came into view, between the buildings, silhouetted against the honey and cream. Jason swallowed. Mom had loved sailing..._

_He strained to hear Richard's voice through the closed door. He could only catch an occasional word, here and there._

_"Eavesdropping?" Sam asked._

_Jason looked up, shamefaced. "Yeah."_

_"Hey, if it were me, I'd eavesdrop too. But you know - Richard is going to tell you anything that he finds out."_

_"Apparently Mom didn't." He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He shouldn't be angry with her. Not now._

_"She would have told you, Jace."_

_"Yeah."_

_"And anyway...whatever happens...Richard has offered to adopt you." Sam had a hopeful look on his face. "He cares about you, he really does. He wouldn't be doing this for you if he didn't..."_

_Jason looked down. Sam was right. Richard had been so nice. He felt almost ashamed for wanting so much to find a father who didn't even know he existed, when Sam's father was ready to take him in, right then and there._

_But then, Richard was Sam's father, not his. Sam had always had a father - yes, a father who had divorced Mom when Sam was only two, but still, a father. Jason had never had one. And now Mom was dead, and he had no parents at all, unless..._

_The door opened. They both jumped; they hadn't heard Richard hanging up the phone._

_Jason's hope died the moment he saw Richard's face._

_"I'm sorry, Jason," Richard said gently. "But I'm afraid I have bad news. It seems that...it seems that..." Richard took a deep breath. "It seems that Gregor is dead."_

* * *

_**December, 2001**_

_The sound of the jet engine shattered his sleep. He sat up, his heart pounding._

_He got out of bed and went to the window._

_One of the buildings across the river in New Jersey had a warning light for airplanes, a small red light that flashed on-and-off, on-and-off. When he was little one his favorite books had been _The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge_, and he would think of the little red lighthouse flashing its light, warn-ing, warn-ing, and look at that light across the river, and it was his own guardian, that light, protecting him and all of Manhattan from human error. But what was the point if the danger was not ignorance but malice?_

_Another light appeared over New Jersey. Too far away to hear it, yet._

_He wondered whether Richard had heard the plane first, or seen it first, from the window of his office, on the 105th floor of the North Tower._

* * *

**June, 2008**

"Jason, it's after midnight. What are you still doing up?"

"Look who's talking," Jason retorted. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing that he hadn't even heard his brother come home. Sam was standing in his bedroom doorway, his suit rumpled, his blazer over his arm. Still weird, to see happy-go-lucky Sam in a suit. (Though Sam was not as carefree now as he had once been, of course – not as carefree now as he had been before he had lost both his parents within a few months of each other and had to take sole custody of his then-15-year-old brother.) But he wasn't just goofy, funny (overburdened) Sam anymore – now he was an internationally-known peace activist. Very weird. "What time did you get home?"

"Just now. Meeting ran late and I had to finish the grant proposal."

"Yeah, well, I have to finish this translation."

Sam came over and peered at the books and papers spread out on Jason's desk. "Are you still working on that thing for Giles?"

"Yeah."

"Haven't you been working on that for over a month?"

"Yeah."

"Slow going?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should give it a rest. You've hardly slept in a week."

Jason sighed. "It's just – Sam, Giles seems really upset about what I'm finding. And he keeps on telling me that he needs the rest of the translations ASAP. But I can't figure out why. I mean – it does talk about the end of the world, but almost all our texts do that."

"You live in a weird world."

"Yeah."

"Want some beer and ice cream?"

Jason laughed. Beer and ice cream was Sam's solution to everything. "Sure," he said. He got up and followed Sam into the kitchen.

* * *

"I thought this whole thing was just for knowledge of history, anyway," Sam said, over Sam Adams and New York Super Fudge Chunk. 

"Yeah. I thought so too. I mean – I'm still trying to figure out if that rock is a fragment of _The Song of the Origin_. But it doesn't really matter if it is or isn't. It would be nice if it were...to go down in Watcher history as the one who found it. But it's just my ego on the line, nothing else."

"So why's it so urgent all of a sudden?"

"This thing's never been translated before. It starts out in Sumerian and talks about _The Song of the Origin_. So we thought it was just for historical interest, cool to research, nothing scary. But then – later on – the language changes - it still uses the cuneiform alphabet, but the language changes – it's actually a demon language, the one they named Achronan A – "

" - the one you're the only living person able to translate - "

"It's only been five years since the First killed everybody – we're, um, still a bit short-staffed. But...yeah. Just me. It's a cool language – all the tenses are weird, though. These demons – they're extinct now – they had a weird sense of time, past and present and future are all mixed up. You can't tell if it's history or prophecy or what. But – the bit I'm translating – talks about seven apocalypses in a row, _'each upon the other as the northern night wanes'_."

Sam thought about that. "Does that mean seven consecutive spring apocalypses, like the ones from '97 to '03?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe it's a different seven spring apocalypses."

"It says that in the last of the seven:  
_'Two souls within a quickened body burn unto flame, burn unto ash.  
Crumbles and falls the gate of hell.'_"

"Spike?"

"Yeah. People lose their human souls when they become vampires, but they gain a demon soul. So we assume that vampires whose human souls have been restored have both – a demon soul and a human soul."

"Assuming you buy that soul stuff."

Jason shrugged. "Me, I think it's just a metaphor for changes in brain structure and chemistry. Vampire brains work differently from human brains; the brains of vampires with human souls have features of both. We assume."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. Anyway. Then it starts talking about the Key destroying the universe, and – "

"What's the Key?"

"I dunno. I think Giles does, though. When I told him about those lines, he seemed really upset."

"Did you ask him if he knows what the Key is?"

"Y- yeah. He – was evasive."

"You think he knows and he won't tell you?"

"Guess he doesn't trust me."

"Is that what this is really all about? You're worried Giles doesn't trust you, and so you're working yourself to exhaustion to get this thing translated, to prove yourself to him?"

"I thought he trusted me."

"Jace, he's only known you a year, and he deals with pretty scary stuff. It's not surprising if some of it is on a need-to-know basis."

"Since I'm the only person who can translate this stuff, you'd think he would think I'd need to know!" Jason knew he was being childish.

"Maybe it's not as big a deal as it seems."

"Maybe. Giles wants the translation ASAP, but - he did agree that it seems like there's no immediate danger. But if there's no immediate danger, why does he need it ASAP? I think he knows a lot of stuff that he's not telling me."

"What else does the prophecy-thing say?"

"Lots of stuff that doesn't make sense. _'The Key flows thrice, twice until death and once unto life' – _"

"Huh?"

"My reaction exactly."

"Does it say when it's going to destroy the world?"

"Well, it says there will be 14 more apocalypses between the one that closes the  
Hellmouth and the Key destroying the world."

"For demons who didn't live in linear time, these Achronans - "

" - they didn't call themselves Achronans. That's just the Watchers' Council name for them. They've been extinct for about 30,000 years. They called themselves – I don't know if we're reading it right, but it seems like they called themselves the 'People of the Helix'."

"Well, these 'People of the Helix,' then – for people who didn't live in linear time they sure were specific..."

"Assuming my translation is correct. Which I don't know. And even if it is correct - assuming that we're interpreting the text correctly. A BIG 'if'."

"Yeah."

"But, assuming I'm translating it right, and assuming we're interpreting it right...we've only had 3 apocalypses since 2003..."

"So you've got a while, then. Plenty of time to find this Key, whatever it is, and throw it into Mount Doom or whatever you need to do to keep it from destroying the world."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Sam, will you please, please someday actually READ _The Lord of the Rings_?"

"Well, I _would_ have watched the movies, except a certain geek brother of mine who's a PURIST insisted that the movies shouldn't be watched until the book had been read, so, well..."

Jason grinned. "You know it's my god-given responsibility as your annoying younger brother to make sure you don't commit Tolkien sacrilege."

Sam stuck out his tongue and laughed, and then took another bite of ice cream. "But, seriously, Jace...it sounds like nothing's about to blow right now, so...you really could take time to sleep, you know."

"Yeah. I just – "

"Jace. Take a break. The world isn't going to end tomorrow."

"It might."

"It always might. But it sounds like you've got a bit of time on this. Take a break."

Jason sighed. "You're probably right."

Sam laughed again. "You need to find yourself a girlfriend. Hey, what about that girl you met when you were in London in May? The Slayer's sister?"

"Dawn Summers."

"That's the one."

"I only got to talk to her for about five minutes."

"Yeah, but you said she's going to the Columbia Journalism school in the fall too. You'll be classmates."

"Uh-huh." Jason attended to his ice cream.

"And you seemed pretty taken with her when you told me about her. You said she reads Sumerian, too. You could go 'geeking' together - have romantic evenings translating – cuneiform and candlelight, and –" Sam ducked to avoid the napkin that Jason had thrown at him. He grinned. "Just sayin'. Hey - did you get her phone number, at least?"

"No."

"Jason! I know you're shy, but ya gotta to learn to ASK. Worst thing she can say is no."

"I SAID we only got to talk for a few minutes."

"You also said that Andrew told you that she mentioned you later and said she liked you."

"Andrew thinks 'matchmaker' is his job description," Jason muttered.

"But if she said she liked you..."

"Sam - "

"You need to get some confidence."

"Sam – "

"You need to learn to – "

" - Sam, could we _please_ not talk about this now?"

Sam looked startled. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."

Jason sipped his beer. "Yankees are playing the Sox tomorrow."

"I better buy more ice cream, then."

Jason grinned. "You're more pessimistic than you look, you know."

Sam laughed. "Touche."

It was late, and they were both tired. They finished their beers and washed the dishes in comfortable silence, and headed to bed.

* * *

Alone in his room, Jason looked out the window. The lights of New Jersey spilled out onto the river. 

Dawn Summers.

Andrew did say she liked him.

And they would be classmates.

And she did read Sumerian...

The wind was from the west. The cool night air was touched with brine as the sea came in to meet the river at high tide.

Across the river the warning light for airplanes came and went, came and went, a soft red heartbeat.

Jason got into bed. The distant sound of traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway was a gentle lullaby. He fell asleep.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 8 _

Giles took off his glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and looked again at the photocopy of a "birth certificate" that he held in his hand. _William Whitethorn Hallows. 19 March 1977. Mother Rosemary Pullman Hallows. Father Arthur Nathaniel Hallows. _He wondered if "William Whitethorn Hallows" had chosen the same month and day as the actual birthday of William Whitethorn in 1854. He wondered if it had occurred to the former vampire that he had killed Nikki Wood less than six months after his alleged birth. He wondered if he could even blame William Hallows for Nikki's death, since if a vampire was not the human it had been (and Giles maintained that it was not) then the reverse should be true as well. He wondered what portion of human personhood was restored with the human soul. He wondered if Buffy, sitting in an airplane over the Atlantic, was expecting the Spike she had known. He wondered if she would be disappointed by William Hallows. He wondered if she would like him. He wondered if she would be attracted to him. He wondered if they would fall in love (rather poetic in a maudlin sort of way). He wondered if he himself would like William. He wondered what it would do to his relationship with Buffy if he did not. He wondered how everything had changed so fast.

He had known, of course, that things would change. He had known that the daunting exhilaration of the past few years could not last. He had known that building new institutions from the ashes of the old was a glory not only grim but temporary. He had known that one day the mountain of his magnum opus would become a plateau of bureaucracy and boredom.

But the last few years had brought him great satisfaction, not least because of the business partnership between himself and Buffy. He had had the joy his own father had known when Rupert had joined him on the Watchers' Council. What greater happiness was there for a father than for his adult child to become an equal in the family business? The analogy did not quite hold up, of course…the gulf between Slayers and Watchers was still as wide as the ocean which would separate their headquarters after the Slayers' Council moved to New York City next year. But it was a gulf between equals, now. Buffy was the leader of an army of warriors and he was the leader of an army of researchers. It was a partnership. And he treasured the equilibrium, the easy camaraderie between them. Together they had created something that would last.

He knew, though, that while Buffy had enjoyed their work, it was not as satisfying to her as it was to him. Her calling was to fight, not to build. He had known that sooner or later, she would move on.

Now, Buffy was only occasionally on the front lines. Every Slayer they lost was a tragedy, of course (though an inevitable tragedy), but with every death he was guiltily grateful that it wasn't her. But as younger Slayers grew into leadership roles, the time when Buffy would more often be free to take the more dangerous role she longed for grew ever closer. And he dreaded it. He knew that sooner or later he would lose her again, and he did not know if he could bear it (and he acknowledged, now, that his true motivation for fleeing to England in 2001 was his own inability to endure witnessing her suffering).

The front lines wasn't all that called to Buffy. She still wanted a "normal" life. How she would reconcile the pull of battle and the pull of suburbia, he did not know. He was not sure whether he hoped or feared that William Hallows would help her to achieve both of her seemingly contradictory desires. (And there was a third desire, too. One she never spoke of. But it was there. He saw it in her eyes, the yearning for the heaven she remembered.)

But he knew that however it all played out, the end had begun. Wherever that plane was now, it was carrying Buffy away from him.

He had the sudden strong urge to tear up the "birth certificate" and throw it across the room.

But emotions, of course, were never even that simple. There was curiosity and frustration as well as hope and fear (and anger).

He looked at the "birth certificate" again and sighed. He felt a certain admiration for Rosemary Hallows' thoroughness. Not only was it cleverly faked, copies had been placed in every location where they would be expected, including the Hallows family file in the Watchers' Council personnel records archive, one of the few archives to have escaped destruction by the First.

It was likely, then, that the Hallows texts were indeed in the hands of William-the-apparently-not-now-so-Bloody.  
(Except for it being bloody irritating that he was alive at all…) Not a consummation to be wished.

Giles rubbed his eyes, and thought back.

He had acknowledged to Buffy that Spike had indeed saved the world.  
(Though in the power of the First he could as easily have killed them all…)

He had acknowledged that he had been wrong.  
(Though he could have just as easily been right…)

He had apologized to her for his role in the attempt on Spike's unlife.  
(Though he had made a logical decision, given the incomplete knowledge that he had had at the time…)

Simple to say all that, of course, with Spike dust and Buffy in mourning.  
(Though it hadn't been a lie. He _had _been proven wrong in that instance. Spike _had_ turned out to be an asset rather than a liability. And even at the time, he had regretted what he had believed he had to do…)

Buffy cherished her memories of Spike, and as it brought her comfort there was no reason to impinge upon them.  
(After Jenny Calendar's murder, Buffy had never once even alluded to Jenny's betrayal…)

When Buffy and Dawn announced that they wanted to learn more about what William had like before he was turned, he'd helped them do the research.  
(And he had been fascinated and somewhat amused by what they had learned…)

But it had bothered him that Buffy never even recognized his point of view. As a demonic entity potentially dangerous to human life, Spike had been well within their jurisdiction.

Now, however…William Whitethorn Hallows was human, and most definitely outside their jurisdiction, as Buffy had so pointedly reminded him before she left for New York .

Never mind that William was unable to account for how he had become human, and it might be in the interests of the Watchers' Council (and the Slayers' Council too, as he had argued to Buffy) to investigate the matter. Buffy had been adamant. And Giles knew that she was right: as an apparently harmless human being (however he had attained that state), William Hallows had a right to privacy.

To compound the frustration, William was Arthur Hallows' legal heir, and so had the right, under both Council law and British law, to keep the Hallows' texts until such time as he believed they should be returned to the Watchers' Council. William apparently had all of Spike's affection for Dawn (and Giles was truly grateful to William for giving Dawn a place to live while she finished her studies). If he discovered what Giles suspected might be in those documents regarding the Key, he would almost certainly refuse to hand them over without consulting both Dawn and Buffy. And as soon as Giles had learned what Jason had found in the Sumerian text (his stomach clenched at the thought), he had decided that it would be highly unwise to tell Buffy and Dawn – or anyone else - until he knew more. (For he did not _know_, yet. He only suspected, and feared…)

Giles rubbed his eyes again. The threat was not immediate. He had time to proceed with caution, gathering more information, telling no one of his suspicions. (And wasn't it a Watcher's fate to know more than he told?) There was too much uncertainty now. And he wished to honor Buffy's request to have time to get to know William, undisturbed. He would bide his time.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

_Note:  
This chapter was originally written and posted last summer as a standalone story, __**Lacewings**. However, it is an essential piece of the __**Gifts**-verse AU, so I am incorporating it into __**Gifts** as Chapter 9._

_In Chapter 8, Buffy had just left London for New York City to meet William. Chapter 9/**Lacewings** takes place a few weeks later, about two weeks after Buffy and William's initial reunion.  
_

_The title **Lacewings **and the quote at the beginning from Barbara Kingsolver's **Prodigal Summer **refer to lacewing moths, who do all their eating as larvae and don't even have mouths as adult moths who live for only one day._

* * *

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 9  
_

* * *

**Lacewings**

_They were everywhere suddenly, dancing on sunbeams in the upper story, trembling with the brief, grave duty of their adulthood: to live for a day on sunlight and coitus. Emerged from their slow, patient lives as carnivorous larvae, they had split down their backs and shed the husks of those predatory leaf-crawling shapes, left them lying in the mud with empty legs askew while their new, winged silhouettes rose up like carnal fairies to the urgent search for mates, egg laying, and eternal life._  
-Barbara Kingsolver, _Prodigal Summer_

**July, 2008**

"I didn't know there were fireflies in Central Park," she said.

"Yeah. Any bit of green space, they're there. Looking for mates." He immediately wished he hadn't said the last part.

But she didn't react. She was watching the blue-green lights come and go in the dusk. There was still no breeze to ease the heat that lingered over the city even as it grew dark. A few hours before the streets had seemed like ovens under the merciless sun. _Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines_. He doubted she would take well to a poetry recitation. Though at least that other William had been able to do it right.

A firefly winked only a few inches away from him. Another firefly replied. They approached each other. The first one landed on a shrub and signaled frantically. The second landed too.

Buffy suddenly turned away. "It's so hot. I'm really thirsty. Let's go."

They walked off. He looked back. The two fireflies were closer now, nearing each other. He hoped they would find each other.

* * *

At Columbus Circle they bought lemonades. They sat by the fountain and watched the crowd. A couple with a tiny baby walked by. Buffy's eyes followed them as they moved past. 

They sat in silence for another few minutes. Then Buffy said, "I envy you."

He looked at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"You're normal now. You can live a normal life."

_Oh. That again._

"I thought," he said cautiously, "that with so many slayers now, that you _could_ live a normal life."

"Not."

"Why not?"

She sighed elaborately. "'Cause I'm not just a slayer, I'm The Slayer. Buffy the CEO of Slayer Inc."

"So take early retirement."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I just - can't."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't? Or won't?"

"I don't know," she said, and got up abruptly.

* * *

He followed her back into the park. She sat down on a bench and demanded, "Doesn't it kill you?" 

"What?"

"Not being able to fight. You loved it."

"I did. I miss it. A lot. But - there's other things. More to life than just fighting."

"Not for me."

"It's who you are."

"It's not who you are?"

He shrugged. "Too much of a hedonist."

She touched his shoulder. "You made a good Champion."

He winced at the past tense.

She dropped her hand. "Sorry."

* * *

He looked up at the sky. A bright star, visible even in the city, was caught among the leaves of a linden tree. The fireflies danced around them. 

"If you could wake up a normal human tomorrow, would you?" he asked.

"No. You're right. It's who I am. I just - I wish I could have kids."

"Why can't you have kids?"

"I wouldn't want a kid to go through what I went through. With Mom."

"Never any guarantees. Joyce wasn't a slayer."

"Yeah. But - it's not just possible. It's likely."

"When I was growing up, most children lost a parent before reaching adulthood."

"Yeah. But that doesn't make it okay. And even if it were okay for the kid - what about the father? 'Hi, I'm Buffy. Let's have babies. And oh, by the way - you're probably going to wind up a single parent. 'kay?' Yeah. That'll go over well."

He swallowed. "I would be willing to take the risk."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't offer to let me use you again. 'Cause I'll do it. And then I'll hate myself."

He glared at her. "I'm not offering to let you use me! I'm telling you I love you and I want to be with you for all the time we have! And if that's a short time, well I survived your death once and I can survive it again! And I took care of a child you left behind before, and I can do it again!" He lowered his voice. "I love you, Buffy. I'll take any time I can have with you. But only..." he took a deep breath. "Only if you love me too. I know slaying is who you are. I know you'll always be a little in love with death.  
And I'm not death. Not anymore. I'm just a man. Just a man who loves you. Can you - do you..." he couldn't finish the question.

It seemed an eternity before she whispered, "I do."

He thought he might burst with happiness. But she wasn't ready for that. She was looking at the ground as she asked, "But..what about when...when I..._want_ it?"

"Death."

"Yeah."

"Do you want it now?"

"No. But I have. And I will again. I know. And if...if we have kids..."

"If we have kids, and if you...if you want it...I'll be there."

She looked up at him. "Promise?"

"Until the end of the world."

Her eyes filled with tears.

* * *

They walked up Broadway together, holding hands. There was a breeze now, tempering the heat. On the Lincoln Center plaza there was a crowd. "Midsummer Night Swing," he explained. "They do this every summer. A live band, and dancing outdoors on the plaza." 

As they walked over he felt his body responding to the music. And the moon, floating above the Metropolitan Opera House. And the fountain. And the warm summer breeze.

She felt it too, because she was looking at him with a mischievous gleam in her eye as she said, "You may not be able to fight anymore, William, but I bet you can still dance."

"Would you like to dance, Buffy?"

She smiled. "Yes. Yes, I would."

They danced.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 are Part 1 and Part 2 of a screenplay entitled **Summers' Lease**, which takes place in September, 2008. Part 1, below, is a dream of Buffy's. Part 2 will be a conversation between Buffy and Dawn.

_Note: The quote from Charlotte's Web by E.B. White is from Chapter XV, "The Crickets."

* * *

_

**NOTE: This chapter (SUMMERS' LEASE: Part 1) is a dream of Buffy's. She's dreaming it in September 2008.**

* * *

**Gifts**  
_Chapter 10_

* * *

**SUMMERS' LEASE**  
Part 1

INT – A LAWYER'S OFFICE - DAY

_Giles is dressed in a business suit, sitting behind the desk, obviously a lawyer. Buffy stands in front of his desk. Lawyer-Giles straightens his tie, looks down at the papers on his desk, then looks up at Buffy._

LAYWER-GILES  
You do understand, Ms. Summers, that as a lawyer I find this agreement to be questionable at best?

BUFFY  
But I want this house so much.

LAWYER-GILES  
_(raises an eyebrow)_  
A few years ago you were arguing in court that you had never agreed to the third lease and therefore should not be legally bound by it.

BUFFY  
I know, I know. But...I want to live here again.

LAWYER-GILES  
And you promise to vacate the premises promptly when the term is up?

BUFFY  
Yes.

LAWYER-GILES  
_(sighs)_  
Very well, Ms. Summers. Sign on the dotted line.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – THE LIVING ROOM OF BUFFY'S CHILDHOOD HOME IN LOS ANGELES

_It is a year or two after the flashback scene we saw in "The Weight of the World." It is a few days before Christmas. Child-Buffy, about 6 or 7 years old, is the only person in the room. There is a large, decorated Christmas tree with presents piled beneath it. One of the gifts is unusually large. It is wrapped in Christmas paper that has Santa Claus on his sleigh with his reindeer flying around the world. Child-Buffy approaches it as though she thinks it is magical. She reaches out and touches it tentatively, with longing. _

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

_The same room on Christmas morning. Younger-Joyce, Younger-Hank, Child-Buffy, and Toddler-Dawn are unwrapping the presents. At last all the gifts except the large one are unwrapped. Child-Buffy closes her eyes with excitement, waiting for the box to be handed to her. But instead, Younger-Joyce comes over to her, puts her arm around her, and says:_

YOUNGER JOYCE  
_(gently)_  
I'm sorry, Buffy. That one isn't for you, it's for Dawn. You understand, don't you sweetheart?

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

_The same room later that day. Toddler-Dawn is rolling a giant stuffed globe around the floor and laughing merrily, as Child-Buffy watches in silence.  
Child-Buffy stands up, and as she does so, she morphs into her young adult self while the room shrinks around her. She hits her head on the ceiling.  
Buffy turns to Joyce, who is now smaller than she is, and says:_

BUFFY  
I know, Mom. It's not for me. I'm the grown-up.

_Buffy reaches down, picks up the torn Santa Claus paper off the floor, crumples it up, and throws it in the trash. _

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – A HOSPITAL

_Buffy lies on a bed, apparently donating blood. Blood flows from her arm through a tube into one bag after another after another. Whistler, dressed as a doctor keeps on changing the bags, collecting more and more blood. Buffy's blood spatters on Whistler's hospital scrubs. Giles sits by Buffy's bed, holding her hand._

BUFFY  
Haven't I given enough already?

GILES  
I'm sorry, Buffy  
_(he weeps)_

_From the neck down, Buffy's body becomes a skeleton on the bed. She looks down at her body, then up at Whistler._

BUFFY  
But I've been stripped to the bone.

WHISTLER  
Sorry, kid. You have to give the marrow up, too.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – THE MANSION IN SUNNYDALE

_Angel, Drusilla, and Spike watch as Buffy hurries about, rummaging through drawers, looking for something._

BUFFY  
I know it's here somewhere.

ANGEL  
Are you sure you left it here?

BUFFY  
I – I think so. But maybe – maybe it was in the gym. Or maybe it was in the pool…

DRUSILLA  
_(chants in a sing-song voice)_  
Fire and water, fire and water, burned and drowned, burned and drowned.

SPIKE  
Don't forget stabbed through the heart.

DRUSILLA  
What are you looking for dearie?

SPIKE  
You know perfectly well what she's looking for.

DRUSILLA  
Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posy, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

_Drusilla dances in a circle, then collapses to the floor, laughing. She looks up at Buffy._

DRUSILLA  
Maybe it's after you. Maybe it's chasing you. Maybe it will sneak up on you.

_Drusilla gets up onto all fours and begins to crawl around, imitating a kitten's playful stalking._

DRUSILLA  
You left it behind, abandoned it, walked away –

SPIKE  
_(interrupting)_  
She had no choice.

DRUSILLA  
No choice, no choice, no choice at all. She left it behind and then when she thought it was gone forever -

_Drusilla pounces on an invisible ball, and laughs again._

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

EXT – THE ALLEY BEHIND THE BRONZE - NIGHT

_Spike kneels before Buffy as he did in the "you're beneath me" scene in "Fool for Love."_

SPIKE  
What are you afraid of, Slayer?

BUFFY  
What if the time comes when I **should** want it again—and I don't?

SPIKE  
_(There's something ancient in his gaze)_  
Fire or fire, love. Fire or fire.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

EXT - THE DESERT - NIGHT

_Buffy, Faith, and the First Slayer sit around the fire._

FAITH  
Are we more than just a sacrifice?

BUFFY  
It's what a Slayer is.

THE FIRST SLAYER  
It is.

FAITH  
Sucks.

BUFFY  
_(shrugs)_

FAITH  
You fight for the world, B., but you never fight for yourself.

BUFFY  
_(shrugs again)_  
****

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – BUFFY'S BEDROOM IN SUNNYDALE - DAY

_Buffy and Dawn sit on the bed. Dawn holds a digital clock in her hands. It reads 7:30._

DAWN  
Buffy, I know you bought it for me. It's the best present anyone ever gave me. But…  
_(She pauses)_  
You know I can't keep it, right?

BUFFY  
But I want you to have it.

DAWN  
It's only a loan. It's not really mine. I have to give it back. I'm sorry, Buffy.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – THE LIVING ROOM OF BUFFY'S HOUSE IN SUNNYDALE

Buffy, Dawn, and Glory sit around the coffee table, playing a card game. The cards are Tarot cards.

GLORY  
You're cheating, you know. You both are.

_Spike walks into the room, sits down on the couch._

SPIKE  
I'm in.

GLORY  
Are you going to cheat too?

_Spike morphs into William, who then morphs from a young man into an old man._

OLD-WILLIAM  
_(looks at Glory thoughtfully, then says very quietly)_  
No. I'm not.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – THE STAIRWELL OF BUFFY'S HOUSE IN SUNNYDALE

_Buffy walks down the stairs. William is waiting for her at the bottom. William has the present wrapped in Santa Claus paper. He holds it out to Buffy._

WILLIAM  
It's for you.

_Buffy reaches the bottom of the stairs. William hands the present to her. She unwraps it carefully, not tearing or crumpling the paper. She lifts the giant globe out of the box._

BUFFY  
But it's only for a little while, isn't it?

WILLIAM  
_(closes his eyes as though in pain, and nods)_  
Yes. It's only for a little while.

**_DISSOLVES TO:_**

INT – THE LIVING ROOM OF BUFFY'S CHILDHOOD HOME IN LOS ANGELES

_We see both Buffy and William as children - both about 6 or 7 years old. They are curled up on either side of Younger Joyce on the couch, as she reads aloud from Charlotte's Web._

YOUNGER JOYCE  
**The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, monotonous song. "Summer is over and gone," they sang. "Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying."**

**The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everyone that summertime cannot last forever. Even on the most beautiful days in the whole year—the days when summer is changing into fall—the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change.**

_Child-William starts to cry. Child-Buffy laughs and hands him a tissue._

CHILD-BUFFY  
_(to Child-William)_  
Don't worry, silly. Only one summer has to die.

_William morphs from a child into a man. Tears stream down his face._

WILLIAM  
No, Buffy. Don't you see? They all do.

**_FADE TO BLACK_**

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 are Part 1 and Part 2 of a screenplay entitled **Summers' Lease**, which takes place in September, 2008.  
Part 1 (chapter 10, the previous chapter) is a dream of Buffy's.  
Part 2, below, is a conversation between Buffy and Dawn.

* * *

_Note: in the Gifts-verse AU, Angel sacrificed his unlife to save the world in 2005. Buffy was with him when he died/dusted._

* * *

_Note: in this chapter, when Dawn says "I'm your daughter," it's because she understands that Buffy feels as though Dawn is her daughter as well as her sister.__ (Buffy specifically says that in the original shooting script of the episode "The Gift.") _

* * *

**Gifts  
**Chapter 11

* * *

**Summers' Lease  
**Part 2

**Friday, September 19, 2008**

INT – THE GUEST ROOM IN WILLIAM'S APARTMENT - DAY

_It's early morning, just after sunrise. Buffy awakens very suddenly. She turns on the light and looks at the clock. It's 7 a.m. She gets up and goes into the kitchen._

INT – THE KITCHEN OF WILLIAM'S APARTMENT -DAY

_When Buffy comes in, she finds Dawn sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. _

BUFFY  
What are you doing up?

DAWN  
I just got home.

BUFFY  
It's 7 in the morning!

DAWN_  
(a bit grandly)_  
I was on assignment

BUFFY  
All night?!?

DAWN  
Well, after the rally, Jason and I went to this all-night diner to get coffee, and then, you know, we got to talking, and they just kept on re-filling our coffee cups, and well, next thing I know, it was getting light out._  
(she blushes a little and grins)_  
I don't know how it happened.

BUFFY_  
(looks at her knowingly)_  
Weren't you out with Jason on Wednesday night, too?

DAWN  
We were covering the MTA union meeting.

BUFFY  
Uh-huh.

DAWN  
We're just friends!

BUFFY  
Uh-huh.

DAWN  
We are!

BUFFY  
Uh-huh.

DAWN_  
(grins and blushes again)_  
Do you want some coffee?

BUFFY  
If you've been drinking coffee all night, haven't you had enough caffeine?

DAWN  
I have to write up my story now.

BUFFY  
You've been up all night!

DAWN  
Tomorrow's Saturday. I can sleep then.

BUFFY  
You're gonna get sick.

DAWN  
I'm in graduate school.

BUFFY  
So sleep is optional?

DAWN  
More like not an option. Do you want some coffee?

BUFFY  
Sure.

DAWN_  
(gets up, gets a mug, pours Buffy a cup of coffee, sits back down)_  
Besides, if we wait a couple hours William will get up and make us breakfast.

BUFFY  
Dawn! Does he make you breakfast every morning?

DAWN  
Oh, like you're going to do your fair share of the cooking when you're married to the God of the Kitchen.

BUFFY  
We're not talking about the "M" word yet.

DAWN_  
(challenging)_  
"**We're"** not? Or **you're** not?

BUFFY_  
(defensive)_  
We're still getting to know each other again.

DAWN_  
(backs off)_  
How is it being back here?

BUFFY  
It's – it's weird. I mean - I find out he's alive, I come to New York, we have three intense weeks together, then I have to go back to London and deal with work stuff, we're on different continents for two months, then I come back here and we're together again, and…I don't know…_  
(she trails off)_

DAWN  
It won't always be long-distance. Next year you'll be in New York too.

BUFFY  
True.

DAWN  
It's hard on William too.

BUFFY  
He doesn't let on.

DAWN  
He's a Victorian.

BUFFY  
Yeah. And I'm in the guest room.

DAWN  
You know you don't have an ice-cube's chance in hell before you're married, right?

BUFFY_  
(dryly)_  
I'm beginning to figure that out._  
(pause)_  
He's so different.

DAWN  
He's completely different and completely the same at the same time.

BUFFY  
I think you know him better than I do.

DAWN  
That'll change. I'm his family. You, he's courting. It's a Victorian thing.

BUFFY  
You like living with him, don't you?

DAWN  
I love it.

BUFFY  
I'm glad.

DAWN  
Cut the martyr crap.

BUFFY  
Huh?

DAWN  
Nobody's shutting you out.

BUFFY  
I know. I just…

DAWN  
Buffy…

BUFFY  
What?

DAWN  
Do you wish it was Angel?

BUFFY_  
(startled)_  
What?

DAWN_  
(trying not to sound accusing)_  
Do you wish it was Angel who was alive?

BUFFY  
No._  
(long pause, then she says, to herself)_  
Angel wanted it.

DAWN_  
(confused)_  
What?

BUFFY  
Angel wanted to die._  
(pause)_  
I saw it. In his eyes. He was so…happy.

DAWN_  
(softly)_  
Like you.

BUFFY  
Yeah._  
(long pause)_  
Wishing him alive again seems…wrong.

DAWN  
Do you wish it anyway?

BUFFY_  
(slowly, thinking out loud)  
_N – no. Not now. I did. At first. When he was first gone._  
(pause)_  
No. Not even then.  
I – he was so happy. The look on his face. Before he dusted.  
It was so…complete. Just the two of us. It was so…perfect.

DAWN_  
(quietly)_  
He was perfectly happy?

BUFFY  
Yeah. For one perfect moment. And then…he was gone._  
(Very long pause. Then she shakes herself and comes back to the present)_  
No. I don't wish it.

DAWN  
Do you think he'd have been happy if he were human?

BUFFY_  
(snorts)_  
No. He'd have hated it. We'd both have been miserable._  
(pause)_  
It's better this way.

DAWN  
But you miss him.

BUFFY  
Of course I miss him. I'll always miss him._  
(pause)_  
But…

DAWN  
But what?

BUFFY  
I don't know if I ever really knew him.

DAWN  
Can anyone ever really know anybody?

BUFFY  
When did you turn into a philosopher?

DAWN  
Comes with being billions of years old and all.

BUFFY  
Have you told Jason?

DAWN  
No. Not yet.

BUFFY  
Are you worried that since he's a Watcher and all, if you tell him he'll be falling in love with the whole idea of the Key, and not with you?

DAWN  
Bulls-eye._  
(pause)_  
Except…

BUFFY  
Except what?

DAWN  
The Key's part of me. If he doesn't know about it, he doesn't really know me, does he?

BUFFY  
You're what matters, not the Key.

DAWN  
But, Buffy…the Key is who I am. Just like you're the Slayer. You can't separate it out.

BUFFY  
No, you can't.

_From the open window comes the sound of a cricket chirping._

DAWN  
There must be a cricket on the window ledge.

BUFFY  
Monday is the first day of fall.  
_(pause)_  
End of summer._  
(pause)_  
Do you think about the Key a lot?

DAWN  
Yeah. I do. I sometimes wonder…

BUFFY  
Wonder what?

DAWN_  
(knows she's headed into dangerous territory)_  
If I'm supposed to be here.

BUFFY_  
(sharply)_  
What do you mean?

DAWN  
I don't know. The monks wouldn't have made me human if they hadn't been desperate. And also…I mean..._  
(she stops, knowing how Buffy will react if she even suggests that she should have been the one to close Glory's portal)_

BUFFY  
Don't go there.

DAWN  
Okay. But I do wonder.

BUFFY**  
I'm** the one who's not supposed to be here.

DAWN  
Is that why you can't be happy?

BUFFY_  
(defensive)_  
What do you mean?

DAWN  
William's alive and madly in love with you and you're in love with him. But you keep on talking about how weird and confusing it is.

BUFFY  
It **is** weird and confusing.

DAWN  
Why?!

BUFFY  
I guess…there's so much that I hadn't thought about in so long. So much that didn't seem possible.

DAWN  
You'd kind of given up on being happy.

BUFFY_  
(even more defensive)_  
That's** not** true. I haven't been unhappy in a long time.

DAWN  
Not being miserable isn't the same as being happy.

BUFFY  
There's been great times in the past few years. Willow and Rebecca's wedding, and Xander and Zoe's wedding, and your graduation, and…

DAWN  
Those are all about other people.

BUFFY  
You being happy makes me happy.

DAWN_  
(impatient)_  
Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, I'm your daughter. It's not the same.

BUFFY_  
(pause)_  
I…I wanted another chance with Spike. But then, when Angel…

DAWN  
You thought that the only thing that's really possible is one perfect moment? You didn't have it with Spike because he didn't believe you. You had it with Angel. You thought you couldn't hope for anything more?

BUFFY_  
(softly)_  
Yeah.

DAWN  
William loves being alive. He loves being human.

BUFFY  
I know. That's one of the things I love most about him.

DAWN  
It's not only about last perfect moments before death, you know.

BUFFY  
I know. I just…

DAWN  
You **have** another chance.

BUFFY  
I know._  
(pause)_  
It's just…it's so good. It's all so good. And it scares me.

DAWN_  
(quietly)_  
Why?

BUFFY  
It seems so…ephemeral. Like if I'm not careful, it's all going to disappear.

DAWN  
"Seize the moment" used to be your philosophy.

BUFFY  
That was a long time ago.

DAWN  
Being a vampire seems like a lifetime ago to William, but he still loves you.

BUFFY  
I know.

_They sit in silence for a few minutes. The cricket chirps outside the window again._

DAWN  
Buffy…I'm glad the monks made me human. Even if – if I'm not supposed to be here.

BUFFY_  
(fiercely)_  
You **are **supposed to be here!

DAWN_  
(letting it go)_  
Maybe. But…even if…if it's ephemeral…I'm glad to be human.

_There's a long pause. The cricket chirps._

BUFFY_  
(very softly)_  
Me too.

_**FADE TO BLACK**_

* * *


End file.
